The Language of Flowers
by jenbachand
Summary: Casey always gives red roses. A prompt from the Caseython at lj group nerdherder. Thanks to phdelicious for looking it over after the weekly voting was over.


_**The Language of Flowers**_  
**TITLE:** The Language of Flowers  
**AUTHOR:** jenbachand  
**PAIRING:** John Casey/Florist  
**RATING:** Teen  
**SUMMARY:** Casey always gives red roses.  
**DISCLAIMER:** I made no money from the writing of this fic.

**NOTES:** A prompt from the Caseython at lj group nerdherder. I did this for lastficstanding which is a fantastic new com. Thanks to phdelicious for looking it over after the weekly voting was over.

* * *

"No, idiot. It's so you can get laid."

The moment the words were out of Casey's mouth, he had serious doubts about the success of the mission, and Chuck's ability to make it out the door without destroying the single rose. The kid looked nervous (and slightly nauseated to be honest) and Sara looked like she might burst into tears again.

Or sabotage tonight's mission.

But honestly, Chuck needed sex. He needed to lose that sad puppy dog look he always had when he stared at Sara. And he wasn't even going to go into her falling for people she worked with. Bryce had been a case study in why not to get involved with colleagues. The sandwich girl would be a good way for Chuck to move on, plus she looked to be a tiger in the sack.

Chuck's continued vacant look made Casey wonder if he had ever heard of the language of flowers. It was a lesson Casey had been very happy to learn years ago.

If the way to a man's heart was through his stomach, the way to a woman's was through flowers. Women enjoyed flowers with their whole body. Eyes that lit up at the sight, inhaling the scent, touching the flowers, yes, giving flowers to women definitely made getting into her bed a whole lot easier.

And Chuck needed all the help he could get.

Later that evening, after declaring the mission a success and Chuck's date a disaster, Casey sat and remembered learning about roses from the most amazing woman he'd ever met.

Bella.

An Italian florist blooming in the middle of America.

* * *

Manhattan, Kansas. 1991.

John Casey couldn't believe he was stuck in this middle of nowhere college town. He would have told his boss to shove this assignment, but Kansas in the spring was a sight better that the Middle East any day.

He was doing surveillance on some of the college radicals that were protesting the US presence overseas and had repeatedly snuck on to the base at Ft. Riley. He was to meet a contact from campus later on a "date" and needed it to look realistic. So there he stood in front of _Bella's Blooms_ and wondered if flowers would be over the top.

When he stepped inside the flower shop, the vision of loveliness that was the shop attendant made him wonder if giving flowers to a florist was over the top.

"Buon giorno," she said. Casey noted the Italian accent and automatically cataloged three possible cities of origin for the onyx haired beauty. "How may I help you today?"

"I, uh," damn, he never stuttered, "I'm meeting someone later and needed to get something to bring with me."

She swept out from behind the counter. The long skirt she had on swirled around her legs giving teasing hints of slender legs and fine bones.

"Is this a woman or a man that you are meeting?" She said as she crossed the shop towards him. "A friend or new acquaintance?" Bella, for he had finally noticed her nametag, gave him a secretive smile. "Or perhaps you are here on a secret mission and are meeting up with your contact at some remote spot, say a cemetery, and need to look convincing?"

His coughing at how close she had come set her off laughing. Not a girlish giggle. It was the laugh of a woman. A mature, sensual laugh that had him blushing at thoughts of her lying naked and letting that rich melody wash over him.

"I am just, ah, pulling your leg," she extended her hand and Casey shook it. "I'm Bella."

"Uhm, John." She laughed again at his nervousness. "It's a blind date."

"Ah. Tell me John, do you know the language of flowers? Specifically of roses?" She hadn't let go of his hand yet. He shook his head dumbly and allowed Bella to lead him over to the cooler full of roses as she spoke of roses and their meanings in her heavily accented tones. Red for love and respect, yellow for friendship, pink for admiration, but he wasn't thinking about flower meanings, he was only thinking about one thing.

"A single rose can denote a lot of things, but it is good for a first date. What are you hoping from tonight's date John?" Bella was looking into his eyes, with a sultry smile on her face, and John had one answer for her.

"How fast I can get out of there and get back here." He spent the rest of his assignment in Kansas not bored, but learning Italian, and the language flowers, and the soft low laugh that Bella had after making love.

* * *

These days whenever Casey met someone new he always brought a single rose in memory of his time with Bella. A single red rose had opened more doors than any other tool in his arsenal. The language of flowers was universal and an easy way to impress a woman. Something Chuck was obviously going to need a lot of help with. 


End file.
